


All Is Calm, All Is Bright

by Duck_Life



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Gen, Sad and Happy, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 21:24:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9029450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: Christmas through the years for Rick and co.





	

I.

Carl’s ripping into his third present, a box wrapped in pale blue snowman paper, when the call comes in. Rick stands in the foyer listening to the man on the phone, trying to ignore Lori’s eyes boring into the back of his head.

When Rick hangs up and turns back toward the living room, Lori pointedly looks away, sipping her cup of coffee. In front of the tree, Carl looks up at him with huge eyes and Rick can’t help but think of Tiny Tim for _A Christmas Carol_.

“Look,” he says, and even _he’s_ not really sure which of them he’s talking to, “home robberies always increase over Christmas.”

“Just go,” Lori says, continuing to avoid his gaze. She picks up another present and hands it to Carl. “Here, baby, this one’s from Grandma and Grandpa. Go ahead and open it.”

Rick stands there in the doorway like the ghost of Christmas Past, watching his family having Christmas without him. But he’s gotta go, he knows he’s gotta go.

Lori finally looks up at him. “Just _go_ ,” she says, mouth in a tight line. “Merry Christmas, Rick.”

II.

It’s snowing, actually honest-to-God _snowing_ , and the group ducks into an abandoned gas station to wait it out. Glenn picks up his role as look-on-the-bright-side guy and points out that maybe the snow will slow down the walkers, freeze them even. Rick manages to dig up Lori’s favorite flavor of Doritos and goes to find her propped against a shelf.

“Hey,” he says, sliding down beside her on the floor. “Here.” She looks at the bag and says nothing, so he sets them on the floor next to her. “How’s the baby doing?”

She looks down at her swollen belly, puts a hand over the bump. “She’s up and kicking,” Lori tells him, and then guides his hand over to feel the kid kicking away.

“She?”

“Well,” Lori shrugs, “obviously I don’t _know_. But it feels like a she.”

“Well, she or he, whoever they are,” Rick says, leaning down and kissing her baby bump. They’re quiet for a long moment, and then he tells her, “Beth’s been keeping track. It’s… apparently, it’s Christmas.”

Lori snorts and tries to turn it into a cough, but she’s laughing too hard. Everyone they know is dead in the ground or dead walking around, but _Christmas_. It just sounds ridiculous.

“Well,” she says, and rips into the Doritos, “Merry Christmas, Rick.” She munches in the quiet while they watch the rest of the group settle into the convenience store and the snow falls down in drifts outside. “Rick, listen,” she says, because it’s Christmas, and at Christmas you tell the truth, “I need to tell you something about the baby. And Shane. She’s— they’re— before you got out of the coma, me and—”

“I know,” he says, patting her knee. “But it’s like I said. I love this baby whoever they are.”

III.

“Nice sweater,” Michonne teases him as she goes to get water from one of the jugs in the prison yard.

Rick glances down at the red-and-green atrocity embroidered with a much-too-large reindeer. Daryl brought it back from a run and practically forced it over his head. “Thanks,” he says, helping her fill up the bucket with water. “Gotta keep it festive.”

“Damn, it _is_ almost Christmas, isn’t it,” she sighs, looking at the frosted-over grass outside the fences. “You know, if you squint, the walkers could be crazed Black Friday shoppers.”

That earns a laugh out of Rick. He scans the prison yard and sees Carl and Patrick playing some game they made up with short planks of wood. “I just realized,” Rick says, “I don’t think Carl believes in Santa Claus anymore.”

“Rick, he’s a teenager.”

“No, I know, I know,” he sighs. “I just… I missed it. Somewhere along the road he just stopped believing in Santa and I don’t even remember when it was. Kid had to find out monsters are real but Santa Claus isn’t.”

The next evening, Rick’s sitting on the stairs in his cell block holding Judy when someone in a big red coat with white trim comes pounding in in shiny black boots, carrying a big brown sack.

All the kids who were sitting in the corner reading or playing with Legos rush over to see Santa Claus. Even Carl stops what he’s doing and watches.

“Ho ho ho!” Santa says, and upon closer examination Rick can see the long black dreadlocks escaping from the red Santa hat on her head. “My elves told me there were some children here in need of presents. Now, why are so many children in a prison on Christmas? Have you _all_ been naughty?”

The kids chorus “no!” and cluster around her, and even the older ones who realize “Santa” is really Michonne still get caught up in the spirit of it all. She starts pulling out presents wrapped in old newspapers, books and toys she and Daryl collected on a run. Rick’s got no idea where she found the Santa suit.

As the kids begin calming down and opening up their gifts, Michonne crosses the block to Carl and hands him an oblong parcel wrapped in layers of paper. “Merry Christmas,” she says, her voice as booming as she can make it.

Carl grins and rips into the paper to reveal a skateboard. “Oh my God,” he marvels, spinning a wheel in his hand. “Thanks, Mich— Santa.”

The grin on Carl’s face when he puts the skateboard to the floor is the best Christmas present anyone could’ve gotten Rick.

IV.

It’s cold, and it’s been cold, and that’s all they know.

Maggie walks slower these days, the weight of Beth and her father’s deaths dragging her down. Sasha hardly speaks anymore, and the rest of them can see the ghosts of Bob and Tyreese darkening her eyes. Rick carries his daughter close to his chest and kills every walker who stumbles into their way, and that’s all he knows.

One night they hole up in an empty mill and pass around a single canteen of water, two tins of sardines and a can of crazy cheese. A feast fit for kings.

After dinner, they all press against the stone walls and try to sleep, Rick curled around Judith, Michonne and Carl and Sasha clustered together for warmth. Maggie’s wrapped up in Daryl’s poncho. Glenn’s standing guard by the doorway.

After a long length of silence, as they all try fruitlessly for rest, Glenn starts singing.

“ _Silent night, holy night. All is calm. All is bright._ ”

With her head propped up on one arm, Maggie watches him and then joins in. “ _Round yon virgin mother and child._ ”

Michonne joins the two of them. “ _Holy infant so tender and mild_.”

And then suddenly it’s all of them singing together, quiet enough not to draw the dead but still harmonious and strong, and maybe it’s actually Christmas, but none of them know. Beth was the one who used to keep track of the date. So maybe it _is_ Christmas, or maybe it’s just another night.

“ _Sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace_.”

V.

Rick drops in to the infirmary and takes his seat beside Carl, who’s fidgeting with a Rubik’s cube Tara found for him. “How’s it going?” he says, patting his son’s shoulder, still trying to get used to the big white bandage covering almost half his face.

“Okay,” Carl says, gaze on the Rubik’s cube. “This thing’s impossible, though.”

“I know,” he laughs. “Michonne says she can solve it in five minutes.”

“Michonne’s right,” Michonne says, poking her head into the room with a grin. “Carl, once you give up, I call dibs.”

“Not giving up,” he says, determined as he works the cube. “Hey, so, I was wondering… could one of you bring Judy in here?”

He doesn’t miss the looks the two of them exchange. They’ve all been worried about how Judith’s going to react to Carl’s missing eye, and how Carl’s going to feel if Judith freaks out.

“Um,” Rick says, “maybe it’s best if we wait till you’re recovered enough to leave the infirmary.”

“Oh, right,” he says, deflated. “It’s just… it’s Christmas, I want to see her.”

Rick scowls. “Who told you it was Christmas?”

But Michonne shoots Rick a sheepish smile before Carl can answer. “Guilty,” she says. “I didn’t know we were keeping Christmas a secret.”

Rick sighs, his shoulders sinking. “I’m sorry, Carl. I just didn’t want you to spend Christmas in here. We were gonna have our own Christmas after you got back home.”

It was going to be a real, honest-to-God Christmas. They had a tree and everything. Presents under it wrapped in old newspaper, ornaments that Maggie and Michonne made out of old scraps in the Andersons’ garage.

But Denise didn’t want Carl out of the infirmary for another week.

“I’ll get her,” Michonne promises, and then sees Rick’s worried look. “It’ll be fine. I’ll get her.”

When Michonne comes back with Judith, Carl’s still nowhere near done with the Rubik’s cube. He sets it aside to hold his little sister in his arms.

“Hey, Judith,” he says softly, propping her up in front of him. Somebody found an elf costume for her and it’s adorable. “How’s it going?”

She babbles and reaches her tiny hand out toward his bandage, tries to push it off. She looks confused.

“It’s okay,” Carl tells her, reaching up and touching the bandage himself. “I got an owie. But it’s okay. I’m okay.”

Rick and Michonne are watching the two of them closely, fairly sure that if Judy cries because Carl looks different it’ll break Carl’s heart. They’ve been telling him he looks fine, that he’s still handsome and good, and that’s true. But a small child screaming at the sight of you is a pretty huge sign.

Judy pops her thumb in her mouth and settles against her big brother’s chest, content and sleepy. Carl looks from Rick to Michonne, smiling a little like he passed a test, and then kisses the top of his sister’s head. “Merry Christmas, Judy.”

VI.

“Okay, hold him still.”

“Judy, hold him in your lap so he’s sitting up, okay?”

But Judith seems more interested in the candy cane that Daryl gave her, and Baby Hershel seems more interested in sleeping than posing for a photograph.

Maggie groans, putting the camera down. “Rick, I think this photo is a lost cause.” Judy stumbles away from the quilt on the floor to inspect the presents under the Christmas tree once more, so Maggie goes and collects her snoozing son.

Rick picks up Judy and kisses her on the nose, making her giggle. “We’ll get some pictures of them opening presents tomorrow,” he says. “Hey, Judy Pie, guess who’s coming tonight?”

“Santa!” she cheers, wiggling with excitement in his arms. Because, sure, it’s the end of the world, and Negan may be dead but there are still Saviors out there somewhere, not to mention the legions of the undead roaming the woods. But, goddammit, his kid gets to believe in Santa Claus. That’s something.

Maggie and Rick head into the kitchen to see Michonne and Carl absolutely covered in flour. “How goes the cookie making?” Maggie says, shifting Hershel into her other arm so she can scoop up some raw cookie dough with her finger and eat it.

“Carl started a war,” Michonne answers, flinging some flour at him.

“Well, we should at least make _one_ batch of actual cookies,” Rick says. “We promised some to Jesus.”

“Shouldn’t we make him a birthday cake?” Carl says, lobbing more flour at Michonne.

“Oh, he thinks he’s funny!” Michonne says, aiming an egg at Carl.

“Hey, that’s against the rules!”

“All’s fair in love and war.”

“No, no, that is against the rules,” Rick says, coming up behind her and closing a hand around the egg. “No egging allowed.” She’s grinning up at him, and he leans in and kisses her. Her lips taste like sugar cookies.

“I don’t see any mistletoe,” Michonne says, looking up.

“Well, I guess you just looked so beautiful, I couldn’t stop myself.” In the background, Carl makes retching noises, earning a laugh from Maggie. “Merry Christmas, Michonne,” Rick says, and it really is merry and bright.


End file.
